November 16, 2009

Working on Green Tilt, Texture

I've finished the left side of Green Tilt, which has a great deal of texture on the surface. This is the rust that has formed over years of wear from use and weather; it's an essential aspect of the machine depicted (an Ag-Bagger), part of its physical character. I've often worried about painting these signs of wear and age, because of the danger of nostalgia. But without the texture, surfaces could be bland and uninteresting, and certainly not as much fun to paint. In order for the paint to look right to me, I have to paint many layers of color, light on top of dark, and back again, cool to warm to cool. The touch, or use of the brush, has to be the right size and have the right gesture in order to be convincing. And it all has to sit on a single plane and not look like some of the color is floating above the surface.

I rely on the strong abstract compositions, with their cropped forms and hard edges to move my paintings away from sentimentality. Of course I want my work to be moving, to affect viewers, to have mood or power or whatever mysterious thing it is that a good painting can evoke...but not be nostalgic. (though I accept that I can't control how anyone sees anything I do.)

So, thinking about texture, I looked again at some still life painting:

Seventeenth century Spain produced many brilliant still life painters who created dramas of ordinary foodstuffs displayed in light against deeply dark backgrounds. Van der Hamen is one of my favorite of these artists because of his simple, rigorous compositions. Each object has a texture that describes its nature, and is part of its volumetric form. We are not aware of the texture in itself; it is used to make each thing more tactile.

John F. Peto, Old Books, 1890, oil on academy board, 6 x 9 inches

For Peto also, the texture of things was necessary in describing them (see also my blog post on Peto). In their wear, they show a human-like progress through life. Because the compositions in Peto's paintings have a clear geometry, and the forms have simple volumes, we do not focus on the details of texture; they are deeply embedded in each object, be it book or inkwell or letter rack.

Mona, I always use only brushes in my paintings. I don't feel I'd have enough control using other tools. Also, for me a brush is an extension of my hand without too much personality of its own, while something like a sponge comes with its own mark and texture.

About this Blog

When I wake up each morning, I look eastward towards the White Mountains, a grand view that continues to surprise this ex-New Yorker.The land, and the flora and fauna around me provide photographic inspiration, as do my gardens, which feed the body as well as the spirit. The subject matter of my paintings––agricultural implements––is very tied to this rural area; my paintings and drawings are all produced using egg tempera, an ancient medium. The textiles I make can also be seen as relating, in their hooking technique, to a small town craft. My prints use ordinary materials, even garden produce: potatoes.

But the paintings, drawings, and prints are strongly tied to modernism, in their form and color. They owe a great debt to abstraction of the 20th century, and I continue to find sustenance in the museums and galleries of New York City. Books and film also inspire thoughts that I wish to share. With this blog I hope to weave together all these various strands of my artistic life.

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I'm a native New Yorker––from the Flatbush area of Brooklyn––and now paint, make textiles and prints, and garden on an old hill farm in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. My works are in many public and private collections, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and the Tate Gallery, London.